The Loophole

Boston Legal *slash* by Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten
blueberrysnail (at) yahoo.com
NC-17. Please go away if Denny/Alan grosses you out.

Alan Shore appeared in the doorway to Denny's office, looking full of breakfast and morning vim. He noted a pensive scowl across the great man's meaty face, however, so he toned down his perkiness one notch in sympathy. "Good morning, Denny! Something's on your mind."

"Yes," growled the older lawyer. "I've got... family problems."

"You, Denny?" Alan drew further into the office. "I didn't think you had a family."

Denny eyed him piercingly. "I've got these two aunts--Aunt Marilyn and Aunt Nora. They're both about four hundred years old. Well. Give or take."

"You don't look like you have very positive feelings about these aunts of yours."

Denny stood up from his desk and crossed over to the front where he could talk to Alan in a more comfortably quiet grumble. "They don't have positive feelings about me--or about each other, for that matter. Hated each other from the moment they met. Different sides of the family."

"Ah," said Alan, helping himself to the cup of coffee Denny had offered via gesture. "So why, after all these years, should they be troubling you now?"

"They're both in the hospital," Denny explained. "Doesn't look good. I don't know the details, but the short version is, they'll probably die within the week. Both of 'em. The same damn week."

"I'm not quite understanding this here," Alan interjected. "You don't seem very fond of them, so why the distress at their departure?"

Denny looked him square in the eye. "Because of their Goddamn wills."

"Ah," said Alan again. "We come to the point."

"Marilyn's will states that I am to receive a small but significant sum of money, but only if I am married at the time of her death. She knew, or felt that she knew, anyway, that I wasn't about to get married, and only stuck me in the will to appease the family. She wanted to leave her money to some... anti-pornography activist group, and that's exactly where it goes if I'm not married when she dies."

"Anti-pornography?" Alan wrinkled his nose. "Those who spoil the fun of others--"

"She was one of those die-hard feminists from the sixties. Before that, even. Lives in Cambridge."

"I've often found it ironic that right after the feminists got the transfer of pornography across the Canadian border banned on the grounds that it degraded women, the first thing to be forbidden was male on male gay porn." Alan volunteered this information with his usual nonchalance.

Denny looked at him suspiciously. It was too early in the morning to deal with Alan's heavy flirting. He had no problem flirting back, but things like that were far easier in the evening, on the balcony, with a drink in his hand. A drink that contained alcohol, and not caffeine and non-dairy creamer. Didn't Alan realize that flirting this early in the day was like eating steak for breakfast? Oh, wait--he had eaten steak for breakfast.

Anyway.

"Aunt Marilyn always criticized me," Denny continued. "Said I didn't know how to treat women. That's why she stuck that ridiculous clause in there. She knew I'd never get married, so she knew her money would go straight to the anti-porn folks."

"And we can't have that, can we." Alan drained his coffee and began looking around the office for any breakfast leftovers Denny may have abandoned. "What about the other aunt?"

"Aunt Nora's certainly no crazy liberal," Denny exhorted. "The opposite, actually. Totally wrapped up in family lore as if we were some type of royalty. Lives in Virginia in a big house that looks like a bed and breakfast. She was always afraid I'd marry one of my beautiful young girlfriends in my old age and let the family fortune slip through my fingers. Her money only goes to me if I'm NOT married."

"Is a puzzlement," Alan commented, aping the Yul Brynner role from The King and I. "But you aren't married, so at least you'll get this particularly legacy without a problem."

"Yeah, and good thing, too, because if it didn't go to me, my cousin Rudy would get it." At the mention of this name, Denny looked positively murderous. Or at least dyspeptic.

"And we don't like cousin Rudy?" Alan inquired.

"Cousin Rudy is a little swine of a man. Used to torment me in my childhood, which he seems never to have left."

"So it's a good thing he's not getting Auntie Nora's legacy."

"Right," Denny agreed. "I just wish there were some way of getting around the other will at the same time."

"Hmm."

"It's not that I need the money, you understand!" Denny interrupted his own train of thought.

"Of course not," Alan affirmed. "You just can't bear the thought of either cousin Rudy or the prudes of America getting their hands on it."

"Exactly!" Denny's face flushed with pleasure at the fact that someone understood him completely.

"I'm sure if we put our excellent legal heads together, we can think of something."

"Toot."

Both men looked towards the open doorway, where Lori Coleson was now standing. She was holding a New Year's Eve-shaped noisemaker to her lips, striped in brilliant rainbow colors. "Toot," it said again, unfurling as she blew into it.

"Lori! Good morning," said Alan buoyantly. "And to what do we owe this... tooting?"

"It's the one year anniversary of the legalization of gay marriage in Massachusetts," said Lori in a perfect deadpan. She looked at the party favor in her hand. "Someone in the lobby gave this too me. Whaddya think? I think I'm having too much fun with it. Toot!"

She walked off down the hallway, high heels clacking on the marble floor.

Alan looked at Denny.

Denny looked at Alan. His eyes had become large and slightly reminiscent of a buck about to be hit by a bus.

Alan dropped to one knee.

//

Five minutes later, behind a VERY closed office door, Denny was pacing around and scowling even worse than before. "I don't know," he kept muttering.

"What's not to know?" Alan lifted his hands calmly. "It's the perfect legal solution. You'd be legally married as far as Massachusetts is concerned, and that'll satisfy the conditions of Aunt Marilyn's will. And because Virginia has decided to enter the twenty-first century asshole first, you *won't* be legally married according to Virginia law and can still safely collect your inheritance from dear Aunt Nora."

"I still don't understand this whole gay marriage thing," Denny griped.

"Well, when a man and another man love each other very much," Alan began in a childlike voice.

"Don't give me that," Denny growled. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know what men... loving... men... are all about. Not to you. You and I don't have any secrets."

"My life is an open book," said Alan. "That's why I rub some people the wrong way."

"I'm not so open," Denny countered. "I hope you value the fact that I let you see me as I am, vulnerabilities included."

"I like you for who you are," Alan said simply. "Always have."

"Anyway." Denny breathed. "It's not that I don't know what it's... all about. It's just that... you marry a woman, she bakes you a pie. She's someone to come home to. Women are for marrying. Men are for having sex with in restrooms."

Alan had months of on-the-job training not laughing at Denny. He'd laugh with Denny, at Denny's jokes, but never AT Denny. Even when he came out with dillies like that one.

Instead, he smiled simply. "This only has to be about the money, if you want it that way," he reminded him. "Cousin Rudy... the anti-porn people..."

"No. No, it's not."

Alan knew it was hard for Denny to say any kind of loving words at all, so he just waited patiently. One did not cultivate a rare flower by yanking it out of the ground.

"You know I care about ya." Denny gave him a real hard-ass look, like he was trying to pull out every macho stop he knew.

It raked at Alan's contrary side. Alan pursed his lips into a fey little pucker, and kissed the air in front of him. Then he backed away towards the door. "Look, Denny, it's the perfect idea," he started to argue again.

Denny held up his hand. "I know. Okay. We do this."

Alan's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Wow! That didn't take long." He was beaming again.

"All right, now get out of my office," Denny groused as he began fumbling through papers and pens on his desk. "I have to... I dunno. Something."

Alan rode the swinging door as he left the office. Lori was still in the hallway, talking to someone. "Toot!" said her little noisemaker as he passed by.

//

Mid-afternoon. Denny was clearing away files he'd just finished reading from his desk when Shirley Schmidt barged into his office. "What's this I hear about you getting married?"

Denny looked up, red-faced and flabbergasted at Alan for mentioning it to anyone--least of all, her! What was that all about? Gloating? "Shaddup."

Lori appeared behind her with the pride noisemaker. "Toot!"

"I guess this means I'm safe now from your pathetic little dreams of rekindling our dead little spark," Shirley said over-dramatically. Then she smiled at him. Oh, how was he ever going to give her up?

Alan walked up and joined the women in Denny's office and Denny realized the answer to his internal question. Easily. Alan already made it hard to think. Not that Denny Crane had any problems thinking, mind you! Not at all. Not A Bit. Sharp as Nails.

Shirley turned to Alan. "Look, I've made him blush," she said, gesturing to Denny.

"Yes, I'm afraid poor Denny has knocked me up," said Alan.

Lori rolled her eyes.

Alan snatched the noisemaker from her. "Toot."

//

Denny sat on the balcony, alone, watching the springtime dusk descend upon the cityscape of Boston. The drink in his hand tasted good, very good. It would taste better if he had company. He wondered what Alan was up to. He'd disappeared from the building after the little impromptu office-party, missing as a result one of Paul's staff meetings. That hadn't made Paul too pleased. Not that *anything* made Paul too pleased. Good Lord. Denny was glad he had Alan now. Alan smiled a helluva lot more than Paul even broke out of his frown.

Where was the smile now? Denny wondered if Alan's crazy whirlwind idea had caught up with him emotionally and given him second thoughts. He might be off somewhere right now, sleeping with that paralegal--Tasha? Tanya? Tara. After all, Denny Crane, for all his superhuman mental abilities and physical, uh, prowess and strength, and perhaps even stamina, was, quite honestly, on the old and fat side. He looked down at his body. Ahem. He was everything he needed to be. Alan said he liked him for who he was.

Then he noticed the note sitting on the chair usually occupied by Alan when they had these little innuendo-filled, friendship-fueled heart to hearts on the balcony.

Denny,

Meet me in the restroom. Let's be men.

Alan

Denny, immediately erect, stalked off the balcony and back into the building. The fire was back in his eyes.

//

Denny strode manfully through the hallways and headed straight--well, directly, anyway--for the marble and chrome festooned restroom that was a special treat of the senior partners. The bulge in his trousers pointed the way. He pushed open the door, with a mighty swing.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks, stunned speechless.

The anonymously decorated corporate fat-cat washroom had been transformed into a den of love. The marble floor was covered with a lush, dark blue rug with a pile several inches thick. Flowers were heaped on every available surface--roses, mostly, in rich reds and oranges. The light fixtures had been augmented with colored bulbs, which served to dim the room to a rich mellow tone. Off in the corner, a portable but expensive-looking boombox brought the sounds of a Beethoven piano sonata to his ears.

Alan stood in the back of the room, looking impeccable in his dark grey suit. His hands were folded over each other at his waist. He met Denny's astonished gaze with his calm, smug, happy one.

"What's all this?" Denny cocked his head at the decorations.

"You said men were for having sex with in restrooms. I'm helping you segue into the twenty-first century." Alan held out his hand. "Come on in. It's nice here. I know you were expecting just a shag, not a shag rug, but I promise you'll like it."

"You're not treating me like one of your girlfriends," Denny commanded. "Because it's not going to be like that!"

"Denny!" Alan smiled broadly and threw open his arms. "Let me suck your cock."

Denny's dick throbbed. He matched Alan's broad grin with one of his own. THOSE were words he could understand.

Alan took his hand, but that was already too much leading for Denny. He reached around Alan's body with his other hand and roughly pulled him closer. "C'mere, you little bastard." Then he kissed him for the first time.

They sucked each other's lips and let slippery tongues frolic together gleefully, without abandon. Alan let go of Denny's hand and let the big man crush him in a bear hug as they kissed. Alan's hands became trapped between their bodies, so he used his fingers to slither up Denny's chest. He rubbed as much as he could feel through the thick fabric of his suit jacket. Why was he still wearing it?

Alan wriggled out of the kiss in order to divest himself of his own coat. "I've got to get you naked," he said breathlessly and enthusiastically.

"Why is that?" Denny asked.

"Because I like you?" Alan ventured. He began running his hands over Denny's chest underneath the open jacket, finally experiencing the shape of the other man's body now. He felt Denny's nipples stabbing through his expensive shirt, and grabbed a handful around each one. He let his thumbs graze the hardened nubs through the fabric as he squeezed.

He squeezed hard. Denny groaned in response. His dick was straining at Alan through his pants, and he rubbed it up against him as best he could. Alan grabbed Denny's face with both hands and mauled his mouth with another kiss. They fumbled at each other's jackets and then shirts.

Once they were both bare-chested, Alan's mouth made a beeline for Denny's nipples. Squeezing and teasing fingers were replaced by sucking gums and a tickling tongue. At the same time, Alan dug his fingers into the bulky, soft flesh of Denny's stomach. He slowly massaged what was under his hands.

"Why are you touching me there?" Denny was curious.

"Because I like it. I love it. I love your belly." That was as far as he'd take that particular verb at the moment. Alan didn't say things like I love you in the heat of anything, because he had no idea if he meant anything he said in that kind of a mood. Words like that were best said with a clear head. "I love the way it's both soft and strong under my fingers. It feels good for me to touch it and to play with it. Does it feel good for you, Denny?"

"Anything feels good," was Denny's answer. "Only please don't tell me this is all about a fat fetish. I always knew you were a sicko."

"I don't have a fat fetish," Alan reassured him. "I have a Denny fetish. I like you, and because this is the way you are, I like it." He gave Denny's belly another appreciative squeeze. "And this is what it does to me." He took Denny's hand and placed it on the rock-hard line of his own erection, poking out from his thigh.

Denny cupped him tightly, claiming him. Alan humped his hand energetically and reached for Denny's fly. He could feel through the pants that Denny was as hard as he was, and for a moment he thought about simply clinging to his large body like a monkey on a tree and grinding their penises together until they came. Thirty seconds later.

But that wouldn't be romantic, and part of what Alan was trying to achieve here in this florally infested restroom was to show Denny that sex with another man could be sweet, emotional, and just as satisfying as anything he expected from women. Just because his previous encounters had risen from an air of mid-century furtive naughtiness didn't have to mean that it must always be thus. Especially not with a friendship like Alan and Denny's. For each man, the other was the only human being on the planet with whom each was completely comfortable being himself--and that should, after all, count for something.

Alan was fairly good at sucking dick. Denny deserved to experience it.

Alan groped his way into Denny's pants and retrieved Denny's hard, fat penis. He murmured admiringly in nonsense syllables, running his hand up and down the length. His other hand reached further into the expensive pants and carefully fished out Denny's testicles. Denny was on display.

He began to nibble on the head. Slurping hard with his gums, he continued to do creative things to the organ in front of him. He held the heavy balls in his hands and massaged them with a gentle pulse. Denny made a low noise in the back of his throat and rested his hand on Alan's head, ruffling the soft hair.

Denny quaked when Alan took him entirely into his mouth. Alan felt it, and helped him ungracefully get down on the floor. The plushness of the rug provided a comfortable enough cushion, and Alan produced a satin-covered pillow from behind some of the flowers. What else did he have in his bag of tricks?

Denny lay back against the pillow and let Alan's mouth completely envelop his penis. "You're damn good at this, Alan," he muttered happily.

Alan slid his hands underneath Denny's considerable behind and kneaded with all ten fingers. He let his teeth graze Denny's dick every once in a while, just to make things a little tangy, and made sure to keep the suction of his mouth at a constant.

His groping fingers snuck closer and closer to the crack of Denny's ass until finally, he was parting the ass cheeks slightly with each manual undulation. The trousers inhibited his progress, but he was able to provide Denny with a teasing graze at some very sensitive bits indeed. His dick strained, fully hard at the knowledge that he held the Great Denny Crane captive, at least for the moment, in a shackle of wet mouth and tingle-inducing fingers. Denny wasn't going anywhere.

"Gonna come," Denny gasped. Alan sucked harder, and squeezed Denny's ass with all his might. Denny's semen exploded into his mouth in a hot jet, and Alan pulled back deftly. He let the organ slip out of his mouth and leave a streaming trail of white gel across his lips and chin. His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned back, gasping. He had to come, NOW.

His hands were on his own penis, but Denny stopped him. Still breathing heavily from his own orgasm, his large chest heaving up and down in sweaty glory, he reached again for Alan's erection. The sight of Denny, a bare-chested mountain of sex, not to mention the smell of his jizz on Alan's lips, were driving Alan wild and he ground his entire lower body into Denny's hand frenetically. Denny quickly undid Alan's pants so that he wouldn't come all over them, as he appeared to be trying to do.

Faced with the burning firmness of Alan's naked penis, Denny made a fist and proceeded to give Alan the best hand-job he had ever had. Without a doubt. When Alan did come, it was with such force that his vision blurred. His head cleared slowly after the incredible rush, and he lay down in a complete stupor--across Denny's belly.

It made a good pillow.

Alan patted the nice pillow with one hand and eyed Denny with a boyish smile on his face. "Good sex," he commented. "I had fun."

"Being on the floor is making my back hurt," Denny griped. "I'm not exactly thirty any more."

"Did you have fun, Denny?"

"Of course I did. How'd you get so good at that?"

"I can reach my own."

"You WHAT?"

"Honestly."

"This, I've got to see."

"Not right now. I'm resting. On my pillow."

"Next time, then."

"I look forward to it. I hope next time doesn't have to be in the bathroom again, though. I was hoping at some point you'd fuck me up the ass, and I think we'd both be more comfortable in a bed."

"You'd like that?" Denny was not used to people being as honest as Alan was, but then again, that's why Alan had trouble with most of the human race. Too much honesty, and not enough tact to lie when it would be more polite.

But Denny liked it. He wanted to know the truth about things. The way things really were.

"I'd *really* like that. I want to feel your balls slapping up against mine."

Denny felt a sticky coldness on his stomach and wondered if Alan had drooled on him. Then he remembered that Alan had made him come all over his lips. "You're getting jizz on me."

"So I am," Alan noted. He picked himself up slightly to look at the mess. Then he set about enthusiastically licking it off Denny's stomach. He didn't stop licking once it was all cleaned up, but instead slurped and sucked at Denny's belly until he had gotten his fill of whatever it was he was getting out of it.

"You're a sicko," Denny commented, but affectionately.

"That's right, Denny, I'm a sicko," Alan declared, with more than a little pride. "And right now, I'm *your* sicko. Soon to be always your sicko, if you still want to go through with this marriage scheme."

"Does this mean no more women?"

"Why should it?"

"I don't want to give up women."

"I don't, either. I don't know how Tara will react to all of this, but who knows. Maybe we can invite her home some day."

"Or Shirley."

"Shirley, too! Now, there's an idea."

"You haven't done her yet, have you?" Denny looked seriously concerned for a moment. "Because I still haven't had my second chance at her."

"No, Denny, I have not yet had that honor. Although I did run into her in the mens' room once or twice."

Denny grunted.

//

The next morning, it was Denny who appeared in Alan's doorway. "Good morning. Denny Crane," he said to both Alan and Tara, who were talking quietly. "Alan, when you have a minute..."

"Tara, would you go fetch us some croissants, please? With butter and strawberry jam."

Tara gave him a funny look, but left the room and shut the door behind her.

Alan leaned back in his desk chair and looked up at Denny. "What's up, lover?"

"I just got an email from my cousin Patricia. Aunt Marilyn's will was changed some time last year." Denny stepped further into the room. "Apparently she got rid of the line about me completely. I don't stand to inherit anything from her at all."

"So the anti-porn people get her money no matter what?"

"No, actually, she decided to leave that portion to the Jimmy fund."

"Can't compete with little kids with cancer," Alan commented.

"Nope. Can't."

"So this means..."

"It means that we don't have to get married."

"Fair enough."

"But I..." Denny stepped close to the desk and leaned toward Alan slightly. "I don't want to stop... being with you."

"We can still be lovers without being married," Alan pointed out. "Marriage, from what I see it, isn't really about wills and loopholes and sneaking around state laws anyway. It's about love. It's about companionship. I can honestly say that you're someone I wouldn't mind being married to, and this is coming from me. A lot of that is because you're perfectly willing to continue to let me be who I am. You like me for who I am! Most people would only marry me on the condition that I change."

"I don't want you to change."

"That's why I could marry you," Alan affirmed. "However, I think we should wait and take this a little more slowly."

"All right." Denny eyed the door warily. "How long do you think Tasha will be with the... whatever you ordered?"

"Tara." Alan corrected as he divested himself of his tie. "I don't know. But doesn't the danger make it a bit more fun?"

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